Chapter Twenty:


Glancing at the clock on the nightstand for what seemed like the thousandth time in an hour, I sighed, leaning back in the chair that Soda had pulled into the bedroom for use when watching over Ponyboy. We were taking shifts so that there was someone sitting with him around the clock, and for the last few hours it had been my turn.

There hadn't been much change in his conditions, but the doctors had assured Darry that all he needed was a lot of rest and time to recover. The longer he slept, the better it was for him, even if it made the rest of us a little uneasy. He'd opened his eyes once or twice, for just a second, and the occasional feverish murmurs could be heard falling from his lips, but for the most part it was pretty uneventful watching over him.

It did, however, give a girl a lot of time to think.

I know that Ponyboy's hardly a kid anymore, he's growing up the way boys do, but to me he'll always be that little boy who used to follow me around and bug me until I sat down to watch Mickey cartoons with him. Someone to protect, to look after and keep out of trouble.

It hits you kind of hard when you realize that you've failed at that.

Here was my baby brother, lying sick in bed, and I hadn't even known he was ill. Two-Bit had been the one to tell us on the way to the hospital that Ponyboy had been running a fever earlier in the day, and he blamed himself for keeping quiet, but all I could think about was that I hadn't even noticed. I'd sat right next to him on the couch while he rubbed his forehead and stared off at nothing, and I hadn't given it a second thought.

And he might not have even ended up like this if I'd just done something about it. Maybe I could have stopped it all, changed everything from turning out the way it did. If I'd just gone after Ponyboy that night when he ran out after Darry hit him...

"I should have gone after ya that night, Ponyboy," I murmured. "If I had, none of this would be happenin'. Ya'll would have never gotten jumped by them Socs, and Johnny and Dallas wouldn't be..." I swallowed hard, my throat burning at the thought of our fallen friends. "If I'd just gone after ya when ya ran outta the house," I rasped, my eyes stinging with tears. "None of this would be happenin'."

With a trembling hand, I reached out to brush a loose strand of hair out of his face. He looked so still, but his skin was pale and clammy, and he was burning up again. Sniffling, I grabbed the wet washcloth from the nightstand and draped it over his forehead gently.

"It's all my fault, baby," I whispered, kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

"No, it ain't," a voice said from behind me.

Lifting my head, I wiped frantically at my eyes before turning to see Soda standing in the doorway. "What are ya doin' here?" I asked hoarsely. "I thought ya had work."

"Got off early," he grunted. "Steve's coverin' for me."

I nodded absently, adjusting Ponyboy's washcloth a little.

"It ain't your fault, Lizzie," Soda said quietly, but with a firmness in his tone that meant he didn't want to hear any arguments. "None of it. I told ya not to go after him that night, remember? If ya wanna blame anyone, blame me."

"That's crazy," I shook my head. "Ya didn't know what would happen."

"And neither did you," he replied. "No one could have. It's... it's just one of those things that happens, I reckon, and there's nothin' we can do about it. We can't change the past, so there's no point in wishin' we could."

I didn't answer, because even though I knew he was right, I couldn't help feeling like it was all my fault. Bob's death, Johnny and Dallas, the mess with the police and the social services... all of it. I knew it was ridiculous, I didn't need Soda to tell me that, but that's how I felt, and I couldn't do nothing about that, now could I?

Soda leaned against the back of my chair, looking on at Pony with a sad, but affectionate look in his eyes. "Remember when we were kids, how he used to follow us everywhere? He even wanted to play dolls with you an' the girls, if it meant he got to play with ya."

Despite myself, I smiled faintly, dabbing Pony's forehead with the washcloth again. "He was always such a sweet li'l boy."

"Sweet?" Soda echoed incredulously. "Are we talkin' 'bout the same kid?"

"Ha ha," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Don't worry, Lizzie," Soda said after a moment, squeezing my shoulder gently. "Everythin' will be okay, just ya wait and see."

I flashed him a weak smile before turning to place the washcloth back in the bowl on the table. As we sat in comfortable silence, I couldn't help noticing how alike my brothers were, despite all their differences. One thing all four of us have in common is that we don't like to let anyone see us weak, not even each other.

Ponyboy's always been a dreamer, ever since I can remember he's had his head in the clouds, but after Mom and Dad died he got a lot more reserved. Sometimes it scares me how he can lose himself in his thoughts the way he does, and not even know that someone's in the room with him, much less talking to him. But that's how he deals with it all, you know? He's a thinker, and he always has been.

Darry is just the opposite, while they're both quiet by nature, he doesn't let himself dwell on any of the bad stuff. He pushes it aside and throws himself headlong into his work and keeping things together, so that he doesn't have to face things.

Soda hides his pain behind goofy smiles and reckless humor, making jokes and goofing around so that no one sees that he's hurting underneath.

And me? I'm the worst one, I suppose. I push people away, keep everyone at arm's length, even my brothers. When someone gets too close or I feel vulnerable, I lash out, and more often than not I end up hurting the people I care about.

If this family is ever going to get things figured out, I reckon we've all got stuff we need to work on. And our biggest problem is that we never talk, not about the hard stuff. Mostly because it's uncomfortable, for everyone involved, but that's no excuse. Things have got to change if we're gonna stay together.

And I had a good idea of where to start.

"Seems like things are better between you and Steve again," I ventured hesitantly.

Soda stiffened for a moment, then gave an uncomfortable shrug. "I reckon so," he agreed. "It... it's gonna take some gettin' use to, that's all."

"Thank ya for tryin'," I said with a faint smile.

"Anythin' for you, princess," Soda replied with a lopsided smirk. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Ya really like him, huh?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think so."

"Glory," Soda groaned.

"Oh, hush up," I snapped good-naturedly. "Ya like him just fine."

"Sure I do," Soda agreed. "It's him courtin' my baby sister I ain't so sure about."

"First of all, I'm hardly a baby, Sodapop Curtis," I reminded him with a cool glare. "And second of all, I don't reckon that it's really any of your business one way or the other."

Soda gave me an incredulous look. "My best friend is makin' eyes at my sister, and it's not my business?"

"No, it ain't," I said crossly, pushing to my feet. "I'm sixteen years old, Soda, but in some ways I'm already an adult and ya know it. Besides, ya trust Steve, don't ya? Like ya said, he's your best friend, he ain't gonna do nothin' to hurt that friendship if he can help it."

My brother looked away, shuffling his feet, and I knew I had him.

"And if ya can't trust him with your baby sister," I said with a small pout. "At least ya can trust your baby sister to use her head, right?"

Well, he couldn't right argue with that, now could he? I almost smirked in satisfaction, but managed to keep my expression even as he shifted uneasily. "I just don't wanna see ya hurt, that's all," he said at last.

"I know," I said with a smile. "But ya don't gotta worry, Soda. Steve won't hurt me, and I think deep down ya know that. And besides, I can take care of myself, ya know."

"Yeah," Soda chuckled to himself, no doubt recalling the broken nose I had given that Soc at school. "I reckon ya can at that."

For a moment we stood in silence, and then he moved around me to drop down into the chair I'd been occupying, grabbing the washcloth out of the bowl and ringing it out a little.

"Why don' ya go on an' take a break?" he suggested, pressing the cool cloth to Ponyboy's clammy forehead. "I'll watch him."

I opened my mouth to protest, then thought better of it. I was kind of hungry, and I hadn't stretched my legs in a few hours. A break might do me some good. "Thanks," I replied, leaning forward to rest my chin on his shoulder and slide my arms around his neck in a casual, but warm embrace. "I appreciate it, Sodapop."

"Like I said, anythin' for you, princess," he retorted with a grin.

I started to pull away, then hesitated, glancing back at Ponyboy's pale face for a moment, my chest tightening of its own accord. "I love you, you know," I said, before I even knew I was going to say anything.

Soda glanced at me, startled for a moment, but then he smiled, a gentle little half-smile. "I know," he replied softly. "I love you, too, Elizabeth."

"Ugh," I groaned, straightening and punching him in the shoulder lightly. "What did I say 'bout callin' me that?"

"Sorry," he chuckled, in a tone that implied he wasn't sorry at all. "I forgot."

"Sure ya did," I muttered, heading for the door. "Just see to it that ya don't forget not to fall asleep watchin' him."

"I won't," he replied indignantly.

"You better not," I retorted, pausing in the doorway to watch as he brushed some of Ponyboy's hair back, and a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Soda was right, somehow, everything would be okay.


A/N: Sorry it is a short chapter, you guys! I've been swamped lately, and haven't had much time to write. The next one will be better, scout's honor! ;)